


Hobbies

by Caedmon



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Arrow Season 4 Trailer, Cooking, Domestic Felicity, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Oliver, Established Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Jogging, olicity - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 04:14:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4732502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eventually, Felicity tells Oliver to get a hobby. </p>
<p>Inspired by the season 4 trailer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hobbies

**Author's Note:**

> The usual:
> 
> ~I own nothing. If I did, someone else would wash my dishes.  
> ~Every time you leave kudos, Felicity grabs Oliver by the collar and drags him down for a kiss. Every time you leave a comment, Oliver smacks Felicity on the butt as she walks by (like a caveman). Every time you recommend a fic (any fic), they do the hibbity dibbity.  
> ~Come talk to me! clintasha-n-olicity.tumblr.com

In the end, it was Felicity who made him start working out again. If it were up to Oliver, he’d have laid on the beach that was two blocks away all day, rubbing sunblock on his girlfriend’s back (and front, and everywhere else he could reach) every hour as stated clearly on the label. But Felicity had itchy fingers that would only tolerate being away from a keyboard for so long, and she got twitchy when he tried to sit in the room with her. She wanted him _out_ of her hair. So, to that end, she'd started hinting broadly that he should get the hell out while she was working.

She’d been sweet about it at first, pointing out little projects he could do in the little house they’d leased for six months. He could paint the bathroom. He could rearrange the living room. He could do any number of small tasks that would keep her from feeling like she was being watched while she clicked-and-clacked away, watching lines of text scroll by on five separate screens. But after a while, she couldn’t come up with anything else for him to do and he would inevitably come wandering back into the second bedroom that had been designated as her office, plopping into the chair he’d dragged in there and kicking his feet up on the edge of her server shelves. 

_Nobody's_ feet should _ever, ever come near_ her precious babies on those server shelves and it was only because she loved him so much, so overwhelmingly much that he didn't end up a greasy spot that she would have to explain to the crime scene investigators. 

Finally, after two weeks off of the beach, two additional weeks of coming up with completely random things for him to do and two grueling hours of Oliver sitting behind her doing God-knows-what-but-I-bet-he-has-his-feet-on-my-servers behind her, she’d had enough. Felicity spun in her chair and looked at him seriously.

“Oliver.”

He’d been flicking through a magazine, apparently, and anyone want to guess where his feet were? “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You need a hobby.”

“I'll show you my hobby.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, and she bit the inside of her lip to keep from grinning.

“God, you're a caveman," she said, rolling her eyes. "But I’m serious, Oliver. You’re here all day. You _have_ to be bored.”

He was serious now. “I’m happy being bored, Felicity.”

“Oliver -”

“No, really, I am. I’ve spent the last eight years fighting to stay alive, every single day. I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to be able to do nothing and know that nobody is trying to hurt us. They don’t know where we are, not our enemies, not our friends. Nobody does. They can’t get to us, we’re safe. We’re _safe,_ Felicity.” He came over to her and squatted before her. “None of them can find us. We’re Jake Martin and Katherine Moore in nowhere, Maryland. We’ve got an encrypted phone to call Starling City. As far as the neighbors know, we’re a nice, normal couple. Nobody knows us. We are free to walk the sidewalks and go to the grocery store and go out to dinner and eat crabs and go on vacation and just _be who are_ without looking over our shoulders every second. It’s heaven to me.” He kissed her softly and she returned it, smiling against his lips. Oliver pulled away, smiling gently. “I’m happy being bored with you, Felicity. This boring life is all I want.”

She reached up and cupped his cheek, leaning her forehead against his. “I love you, Oliver. You're everything I've ever wanted, and never thought I could have. And I'm happy here with you. And I hope you know all of that's true, okay? Because it is. Do you know that?"

He beamed at her, closing his eyes and leaning into her hand. "I do."

"Good. Then you'll not leave me when i tell you this. Get a hobby, Oliver, and get the hell out of my office. You’re making me insane sitting back there.”

He sighed and sat back on his heels, then looked up at her from under his brows. 

“Oh no,” she protested loudly, sitting back in her chair, raising her hand defensively. “I know that look. Don’t give me that look. Don’t do that to me. Uh-uh. The patented Oliver Queen puppy eyes are _not_ going to work this time.”

He turned his lips up, taking the actual manipulation of out what he was about to do, letting her know it was a joke. “But sweetheart...don’t you _want_ me around....?”

“Dammit, Oliver…”

He grinned fiendishly and grabbed the arms of her chair, pulling her close. She crossed her arms and turned away, screwing up her lips against a smile. He pretended to pout. “You really _want_ me to go away and leave you alone?”

“You suck, Oliver Queen.”

He waggled his eyebrows again and lowered his voice. “You know it, sweetheart.”

She smacked his shoulder then, giving in to the smile that had been threatening. He raised up on his knees and caught it with his lips, taking it as his very own, and when she giggled he assumed that was an invitation, claiming her mouth wholly. When she slipped her arms around his neck, he accepted that to mean she was done with work and scooped her up, wrapping her legs around his waist so they matched her arms and carried her to their bedroom, depositing her on their bed and demonstrating his favorite hobby. Thoroughly. 

>>\------->

Oliver Queen was a happy man. After they made love, Felicity would curl up against him in their bed (and it was, it really was _their bed_ in _their house_ and he wasn't sure he would ever get over the thrill of that) and use her fingertips to draw patterns and shapes on his bare chest. She didn’t know he knew it, but she always wrote their names and “I love you” across his belly and chest in broad cursive. Every time she drew a heart around their initials in smaller block print over his bratva tattoo, as if she were staking a claim over him and taking him away from them and that time, he fell in love with her a little more. 

He’d known that eventually he’d get on her nerves just hanging around the house all the time. He’d known that eventually he’d get on his _own_ nerves. Boredom really was wonderful...for now. But after eight long years of constant movement, constant activity, he’d known that he’d eventually get that itch for something to do. 

He’d hoped that the cocoon of doing nothing would last a bit longer, though, and his feelings were just the tiniest bit hurt that Felicity wanted him out of the house before he was ready to go. He wasn't crushed or mad or anything, he just wasn’t quite ready to give up the quiet domesticity and constant contact with Felicity. That was the real heaven. If he died and met God right now, and God (unrealistically) deemed him worthy of a good afterlife, he'd just be sent back to this place with her. Oliver had convinced himself that he’d never get the girl, he’d really and truly believed that he wasn't worthy. But he’d gotten the girl, the house, the white picket fence, the car, the little quiet life. He didn’t really want to burst the bubble of joy he was living in. 

But venturing out of the house didn’t mean that he was bursting the bubble, right? It just meant that he was _doing_ something. That he wasn’t sitting on his ass all the time. That they weren't just lounging around.

Hey. That’s an idea. 

“Hey, Felicity?”

“Mmm?” 

Those contented little noises stroked his ego the same way her fingers stroked his chest, and he wished she’d make them more. He'd have to work on that.

“I’ll make you a deal.”

She raised up on an elbow to look at him. The sheet dropped a few inches, giving him a nice view. _Down, boy. Later._

“What’s your deal, Queen? What're you offering?”

“I’ll take up as many hobbies as you want me to if you’ll promise me two things.”

Felicity narrowed her eyes and tilted her head a bit, considering him. “Color me curious. Go on.”

Oliver rolled over, propping his head on an elbow to mirror and face her. He ran a finger down her arm, following it with his eyes and giving her a little shiver. He smirked, pleased with himself. “First, I want you to promise me that I don’t have to give up free time with you. Your free time, obviously, since I have nothing but free time right now.”

“Of course not!” She snorted as if the notion were ridiculous. 

“Second...you have to take up a hobby, too.”

Felicity raised her head off of her elbow and narrowed her eyes, trying to make sense of him. “Me? Why?”

He flattened her hand to stroke her arm now, soothingly. “Well, you spend all of your time either with me or in the office. I don’t want you to get bored with me. Our life used to be pretty exciting, you know? I don’t want you to decide that what you have now isn’t enough. Yeah?”

She snorted again and lowered her head. “You’re ridiculous. That would never happen.”

There was something in her tone that told Oliver she hadn’t considered that, and maybe she should. He was glad he'd thought of and suggested this, because that subtle, almost invisible trace of a hint in her voice terrified him. He couldn't lose this woman, his salvation.

“Will you? Take up a hobby that is.”

Felicity looked at him for a minute, assessing him. “What would you have me do, oh peruser of hobbies?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. Whatever you want, I guess. What do you want _me_ to do?”

“Salmon ladder,” she said without any hesitation and he barked a laugh.

“Miss it that much?”

Felicity nodded vehemently. “God, yes.”

“How about running? For me.”

Felicity pursed her lips and tilted her lips in mock deliberation. “Hmm, let me think. Oliver Queen, all sweaty toned legs with great stamina, running around all over then running home to me? Yeah, I’ll take it.” They smiled hugely at each other. “What about me, though?”

“Cooking,” he said after only a second.

“Cooking?” she asked, confused again. Then her brow flattened as a thought rose to the surface of her mind. “Are you thinking of the little woman at home, barefoot in the kitchen, preparing a meal for her man to enjoy?”

He groaned. “Sweet Jesus, yes. That's _perfect,_ please do that.”

She laughed and smacked his shoulder. “You complete neanderthal!” His eyes twinkled at her. When she stopped giggling and he stopped proving what a caveman he actually was by pinning her down and kissing her, she asked from beneath him, “so you’re going to run marathons and I’m going to bake?”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

“Me too.”

“I don’t like coconut, though. Just for future reference.” He grinned at her again and gave her a quick kiss.

She grinned up at him again and gave him a mock stern look. “You’ll eat what I cook and you’ll like it, Oliver Queen.”

“Yes, ma’am.”


End file.
